Recipes: Korea

January 14, 2013

All you can eat barbecues in Koreatown are fantastic, if you want to eat as much meat as possible. But at some restaurants, one of the best tastes comes after the meat is gone and the grill is empty. Then the server brings the makings for kimchi fried rice.

In the photo at the top, you can see how it's put together at Hae Jang Chon on West 6th Street.

But you don't have to eat out to get kimchi fried rice. It's easy to make at home. All you need is kimchi and rice that has been cooked previously so that it's not too soft.

If you don't eat a lot of kimchi, you may not want to purchase the large jars stocked in Korean markets. However, those same markets have delis where you can buy any amount you need.

The version in the photo above gets added flavor from bacon, but you could saute with butter or oil instead and leave the rice meatless. Or you could put in a small amount of meat for richer flavor.

The rice in the photo is topped with a seasoned dry seaweed snack from a Korean market. Crisp, lightly sweetened and sprinkled with sesame seeds, it's great for garnishing and also for snacking, either by itself or as an accompaniment to beer--Korean beer, of course.

Heat a large skillet over medium high heat. Add the bacon and cook until browned and the fat has melted. Add the garlic and green onions and cook until softened, 1 to 2 minutes. Add the kimchi and cook until heated through.

Add the rice and toss until heated through and evenly mixed with the kimchi so that no white grains remain. Taste and add salt if needed. Serve sprinkled with the seaweed, if desired.

January 03, 2012

To make Korean barbecued beef--bulgogi--you need good meat and a good marinade.

Choosing the beef is up to you, but here is a really good marinade from one of the top places in Koreatown, Park's Barbecue.

Chef Jenee Kim (right) gave out the recipe and cooked the dish at the first annual Hansik Holiday Festival, a Korean food and wine party last Friday at the Wilshire Hotel in Koreatown.

She showed a variation called bulgogi ssam in which she placed the meat on lettuce along with Korean bean paste to eat like a wrap.

You can do that, serving the meat on one plate, piling lettuce leaves on another plate and setting out a bowl of bean paste for diners to make up their own wraps. It's usual to provide a dish of raw garlic cloves too.

To round out the dinner, serve rice and pick up some banchan (side dishes) and kimchi from a Korean market.

I’ve not met anyone with more devotion to this fiery hot, garlicky Korean pickle than my friend Clark Akers. Not even the Koreans I know speak of it with such awe.

Clark always had kimchi on hand at home. He would eat it for breakfast with bacon and eggs, at lunch with a sandwich or soup and at dinner instead of a salad. He adored it so much that I think he would have eaten it even with apple pie.

When we would meet for lunch in Koreatown, Clark would demolish all the kimchi that came with the banchan, ask for more, then order more to go. One of the highlights of his life was when a Korean friend brought him a jar of his mother’s homemade kimchi.

Clark has now moved on to other realms where, I hope, the kimchi is as heavenly as he deserves. I never eat Korean food without thinking of him, and I prize the one tangible memento that I have—his recipe for kimchi soup. Clark brought me a taste one day, and it was as good as he claimed. Luckily, I asked for the recipe.

Cut the carrot in half lengthwise, then crosswise in ¼-inch slices. Cut the celery stalk in half lengthwise, then crosswise in ¼-inch slices. Quarter the bell pepper lengthwise, then cut crosswise in ¼-inch slices.

Add the carrot, celery, green onions and bacon to the saucepan of water. Bring to a boil, then boil gently, uncovered, 15 minutes.

Add the bell pepper, peas, mushrooms, the bouillon cube, the ramen noodles and their seasoning. Cook 3 to 4 minutes.

February 25, 2008

Getting invited to a home-cooked Korean dinner is a rare honor any time. But this night, the main dish was to be one of my favorites--kalbi chim, a succulent, slightly sweet and irresistibly good dish of braised beef ribs.

My friend Sejung Kim had offered to cook. Knowing how much I like kalbi chim, she had consulted with Seong Yeon, a friend in Seattle who is expert at this dish.

The ribs, rice and a salad would have been enough, considering that it takes three days to make kalbi chim properly. But no. Sejung cooked everything else she could think of to make an extraordinary Korean meal.

The food was beautiful, like art work. Just one example—kamja bokkeum, strands of potato and bell peppers woven into an artful design.

We started with a soup. toenjang jjigae, based on a delicate broth made from anchovies and kelp. Into this, Sejung had put cubes of beef and potato, tofu, zucchini, shiitake mushrooms and onions. And of course toenjang, which is fermented soy bean sauce--Korean miso.

Most Korean restaurants serve marinated bean sprouts, sukju namul, and Sejung had made them too, seasoning the blanched sprouts with rice vinegar, sugar and sesame seeds.

We also ate dried young fern shoots (kosari) in an appetizing blend of soy sauce, sesame oil, sesame seeds and green onions—basic seasonings for much Korean food.

There were sliced Persian cucumbers marinated with spicy red pepper paste (kochujang), garlic and sugar. And white kimchi, mild and delicate rather than spicy with red pepper.

Plain rice would have been fine, but Sejung had made an ornate dish of short grained white rice combined with both sweet and regular brown rices and black beans. This is called kongbap, kong meaning beans and bap cooked rice.

The vegetable dishes may sound simple, but some of them required hours of preparation. The kosari for example, had to be soaked, rinsed, boiled, soaked again, then sautéed.

The highlight, of course, was the kalbi chim (sometimes the dish is spelled kalbi jim, kalbi tchim or galbi jjim), ornamented with Asian red dates and chestnuts, and sprinkled with pine nuts and hairlike strands of dried red chile, called silgochu.

In Korean restaurants, I usually drink Korean beer, but Sejung likes Sangiovese or Shiraz with Korean food, and by chance I had brought along a Mosby Sangiovese 2004.

We finished with fruit, a pretty dish of white nectarines in syrup flavored with white Zinfandel.

The following weekend, with the taste of kalbi chim still fresh in my mind, I went to a Korean market, bought the ingredients and started the three days of preparation.

The results were sumptuous. The procedure isn’t as difficult as it sounds. Much of the time is devoted to marinating the meat to concentrate the rich flavor.

I’m not the only one who thinks that kalbi chim is a wonderful dish. In his column The Minimalist in the New York Times Dining In section (February 13, 2008), Mark Bittman ranked French style braised short ribs and “the standard Korean kalbi jim” as “stunning classics.”

The kalbi chim that Sejung makes is far from “standard” though. Its intricate flavors and painstaking preparation place it on a level that, as far as I’m concerned, is in the stratosphere.

Start the preparation 2 days before serving. On the first day, place the ribs in a large bowl or dishpan and cover with cold water. Let stand 2 hours.

Drain the ribs, rinse and pat dry with paper towels. Place them in a container with a lid. Grind the pear in a food processor or blender. Combine the pear, sake and sugar with the meat and mix well. Cover and marinate in the refrigerator 1 hour.

Combine the soy sauce, onion, green onion, garlic, sesame oil and sesame seeds in a food processor or blender and process until pureed. Add to the meat. Mix well. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

The next day, place the meat in a Dutch oven. Add ½ cup water, cover and bring to a boil. Add the ginger root slices. Reduce the heat, cover and cook over medium low heat 3 hours.

Meanwhile, soak the dates until softened enough to slit them and pry out the seeds. After 2 hours, add the seeded dates and the dried chestnuts, if using, and cook 1 hour longer.

Let the meat cool. If any bones have separated from the meat, remove them and discard. Return the meat and cooking juices to the washed storage container. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

The next day, remove as much of the congealed fat from the meat as possible. Turn into a Dutch oven and reheat to serving temperature. Transfer the meat and juices to a large heated serving container. Sprinkle with pine nuts, and with dried red chile strands if you are bold.